


Miral in Space

by m_class



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post-Endgame, Toby the Targ 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_class/pseuds/m_class
Summary: After Voyager's return, Miral Paris-Torres and her parents begin to carve out their new life as a family in the Alpha Quadrant.  With hope, luck, and a pinch of good old engineering problem-solving, B'Elanna and Tom must navigate debriefings, work, family, changes for the better and for the worse among their Voyager friends, and first-time parenting...IN SPACE!





	Miral in Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleObsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleObsessions/gifts).



Miral Paris-Torres met her Human grandfather one hour and thirty-eight minutes after the U.S.S. Voyager burst into the Alpha Quadrant. She met both her Human and Klingon grandmothers less than six days later, when Voyager and her crew arrived on Earth. For the next two weeks, she was carried, rocked, sung to, changed, bounced, kissed, tickled and cradled by her two parents, three grandparents, two godfathers, one godmother, two aunts, four Starfleet childcare workers, and several dozen of her 143-member Voyager family.

For the six weeks that followed, she settled in with her parents and a slightly less extensive--but still sizable--cast of caretakers in a sunny San Francisco apartment as her parents continued to attend a long series of series of meetings, medical exams, counseling sessions, and slightly less urgent debriefings.

On the fifty-seventh day after Voyager’s return, her father picked her up in his arms in the morning, and carried her all around the apartment and all around the neighborhood and all around the city. He did the same the day after that and the day after that and the day after that, as her mother shuttled back and forth from Earth to Utopia Planitia, helping supervise Voyager’s examination and semi-deconstruction in Federation dry-dock. Each night, her mother returned home smelling of sweat and engine oil, and emerged from the shower clean and damp-haired, opening her nursing top for her baby girl.

On the one hundred and sixth day since Voyager’s return, Miral wore Starfleet’s best noise-canceling headphones and slept on her mother’s back through a confetti-drenched parade through the streets of San Francisco, and continued to nap in her grandmother’s arms as her parents and godparents and many Voyager aunts and uncles received commendations on a bandstand on the Presidio. On the one hundred and sixth night after Voyager’s return, she screamed happily at the top of her voice in her sidecar bed in her parents’ new bedroom at the top of her Human grandparents’ house in the countryside.

On the one hundred and seventh morning since Voyager’s return, Tom and B’Elanna stumbled downstairs, exhausted and grouchy and profoundly happy, and Miral snoozed angelically in her kitchen bassinet while her parents and aunts and grandparents made breakfast. She stirred and began industriously trying to fit her foot in her mouth as her father raised an orange juice toast, declaring that after seven years adrift on the far side of the galaxy, you couldn’t get too much of home and family.

On the one hundred and thirty-first day since Voyager’s return, after the sixth fight between Tom and his mother about how promptly plates needed to be placed in the recycler, the fourth quarrel between B’Elanna and Tom’s father about when Miral did and did not need to wear booties, and the somewhat explosive argument that ended the third visit of Miral’s Klingon grandmother, Tom and B’Elanna decided that you could get too much of home and family. They further decided that, contrary to expectation, four and a half months was just about enough time to relax and recover, and they were itching to have something to  _ do  _ again--not to mention the space and privacy to raise their daughter as they saw fit.

After a consult with the friends B’Elanna still wasn’t used to having in high places, the small family had a list of jobs to choose from. Most were on Earth, but both Tom and B’Elanna’s eyes continued to be drawn to the two open positions at a small repair station a stone’s throw away, servicing Federation and other vessels who needed work too major to be done in space but not extensive enough to dock at Utopia Planitia or another large shipyard. The station was large enough to have a school, diverse enough satisfy B’Elanna’s concerns about Miral’s childhood socialization, and close enough to home for frequent visits from friends and family.

Less than a week later, they were sharing a celebratory kiss after receiving both formal acceptances, and booking passage on the next week’s transport.

“You think this is the right step?” B’Elanna asked quietly as they climbed into bed, Miral already sound asleep in her sidecar.

Tom smiled. “I do.”

So it was that at the age of five months and a day, chewing on a rubber targ while snuggled in her father’s arms, Miral Paris-Torres went back to space.  
  


* * *  
  


On the one hundred and eighty-third day since Voyager’s return, Harry wrapped B’Elanna in a hearty embrace as he stepped off the transport, then turned to the infant regarding him solemnly from her perch in her father’s arms. “He-ey! How’s Voyager’s most famous family?”

“Hey yourself.” B’Elanna reached for his duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder for the walk back to their quarters. “Don’t sell the Wildmans short; if Naomi achieves all of her dreams, she’ll be more famous than the whole crew put together.”

Tom laughed.  “And how is Miral’s favorite godfather doing?”

Harry smiled proudly. “I think the kids on my team are a little intimidated by me. Lieutenant Commander Harry Kim, who spent his entire career to date battling his way through the Delta Quadrant!” He winked. “But the ones who aren’t kids are war veterans,” he added, sobering. “So there’s… a mutual understanding, and a mutual curiosity, too, I think. We both faced battles, and lost people, but I’m talking with them all horrified and interested in how things changed here, and they’re talking with me all horrified and interested in what it was like being so isolated. It’s been good,” he concluded. “Hard at times--well, the work too, but the conversations, I mean--but good.”

“Glad to hear it.” Tom clapped Harry on the back, looking at his younger friend with pride.  _ ‘Kids?’ Well, you’ve certainly come a long way yourself, kid.  _ Aloud he added, “You deserve the position.”

Harry smiled his thanks. “And how are your new jobs treating you?”

B’Elanna lit up at his words. ‘It’s wonderful. I’ve been working with ships from all over the quadrant, every day a new challenge. But the stress and pressure are oh, I don’t know, only about five hundred percent lower than they were on Voyager. I mean, if we can’t solve a problem quickly, the worst we have to deal with is a grumpy captain whose crew is forced to spend another day lounging around the restaurants on the station concourse. Such a tragedy,” she finished with a grin.

“Glad to hear it, Starfleet.”

“And I’m enjoying teaching the station nippers to fly. Remind me of myself at that age. Like B’E said, it’s nice not to have so much riding on the work for a change. Voyager was a good adventure and,” Tom added more seriously, “a wake-up call for me, a way for me to get my act together and get ready to be her dad.” He gestured at Miral. “But now...she’s my adventure. I’m glad to have a job that doesn’t mean I might not make it back to her.”

Harry nodded soberly. “I’m glad to hear that. She’s worth it.”

“But this weekend isn’t about work in the slightest,” added Tom, grinning at their oldest friend.

B’Elanna threaded her arm through Tom’s, giving Harry a light punch on the shoulder. “It’s like a holodeck getaway on Voyager...except every restaurant, happy hour, and tourist attraction is absolutely real. And the two hours Sunday when we  _ are  _ both needed at work and you get to watch Miral are real, too,” she added playfully.

Harry grinned.  “Sounds amazing. So, what’s on our agenda?"

  
* * *

  
The communicator in Tom and B’Elanna’s quarters chirped a few minutes after twenty-one hundred, as B’Elanna read in bed with a glass of wine and Tom pulled on boxers and reached for an old t-shirt, preparing to join her. Frowning, he shrugged the shirt over his head before retreating back to the living room, crossing out of sight of the doorway towards the com panel. B’Elanna stared after him, laying her book in her lap.

“Hello, Dad,” she heard.

The sound of Admiral Paris’s response, too faint to hear.

“They’re both well. Harry arrived this afternoon for his visit.”

B’Elanna ran a finger absently around the rim of her wineglass.

“What?”

More indistinct words from the admiral.

“What do you mean? Why?”

Another response, longer this time. B’Elanna bit her lip, scowling.

“No.” B’Elanna heard Tom sigh. “No. We haven’t. Well--let me ask B’Elanna.”

B’Elanna slipped out of bed, meeting her husband at the door as he crossed back towards her. “B’E, have you heard from Admiral Janeway lately?”

“There was that com call on Earth when she congratulated us on the new jobs...”

“After that.”

B’Elanna frowned for a second, thinking. “No. Not since then. Why?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll explain in a sec. Nothing’s…” He changed track verbally as he crossed back over to the com screen. “It’s not an emergency.”

She stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame as Tom finished the call with his father and signed off.

“What’s happening?” she asked in a low voice as her husband walked back to the doorway and reached for her, wrapping his large, warm hands around her waist.

“It’s not an emergency,” he assured her again. She waited, throat tightening but letting him find his words, as he looked away from her face and then back again. “The capt--admiral isn’t missing or anything. Not, you know,  _ missing _ missing. She...said she was going to take some time for herself, and no one knows...well...where. She’s been comming her sister little updates, over a video link and everything; it’s not like she’s being secretly held hostage by Romulans.” He mustered a slight chuckle, but it sounded forced. “According to Dad, the way she was acting… the things she was saying… before she left have everyone, uh, concerned. So he’s just… calling around. To see if anyone knows a bit more about… ” He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Whatever’s going on.”

“Oh.” B’Elanna bit her lip so hard it stung.

Tom tightened his hold on her, and she leaned into him. “We should…” She shook her head, still pressed against his chest. “Do something. Com her. I don’t know. Fuck.”

“No one can reach her. She calls her sister for the updates.”

“Fuck. Fucking…” B’Elanna peeled herself away, pacing across the living room and then back to Tom. “Fucking p’taq.”

“B’E. I know.” He sighed. “But until the capt--admiral wants to reach us, there’s only so much we can do.”

B’Elanna’s only response was a frustrated sigh.

Tom opened his arms slightly, and she wrapped her own around him again. “Aren’t you worried?” she demanded.

She could feel his shoulders slump. “Of course I am.”

Taking a deep breath, B’Elanna squared her own shoulders and pulled him more tightly against her, rubbing her hand down his back.  _ Be the strong one, B’Elanna. You’re not the only one who needs Janeway. Even when she’s being a fucking ass and scaring us all. _

Empty reassurance had never been an art form B’Elanna was on speaking terms with, so she just rubbed her husband’s back for another minute before pressing a gentle, lingering kiss against his lips and leading him back to bed.

  
* * *

  
Tom was heading back to the picnic blanket spread in front of a window on the concourse mezzanine, drinks in hand, when his ears pricked up at the sound of Harry talking to Miral. A quick survey showed that B’Elanna was nowhere in sight, presumably still in line for sandwiches. Grinning to himself, he slunk closer, lurking in the shadow of a support pillar and waiting for his old friend to unknowingly embarrass himself with baby talk.

“...and she said to me, ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ But when we tried to escape, it turned out the team from Voyager and the Val Jean had already come looking for us, because that’s what Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay--of course, he was a captain too then--were always like. They wouldn’t leave anyone behind. And then we all ended up making it to the surface together. Your dad stayed behind to help the last crewmembers up, because he was very,” Harry gently clapped Miral’s hands together with each repetition of the word, “very, very, very, very, very brave and good, even when he was trying to convince everyone he wasn't. So that's how I met your mother.

“Over the next few days, your dad still kept trying to push me away, as though hanging out with him would have made any difference in my Starfleet prospects stranded at the other side of the universe, even if I’d cared. He was always just as noble as he said he wasn't. A real troublemaker, though. It was good he had Captain Janeway to keep his sleezy self in line over those first few years. And your mom, once she found out the Captain believed in her, and valued  _ all _ of her, not some tamped down version of herself like she felt she'd been told to become at the Academy...well, almost overnight it was like she was the cool, competent senior officer and I was her kid friend. But never forget,” he reached out a finger to boop Miral lightly on the nose, “I was the one who stopped her from trying to break a door open with her nose.”

Miral shrieked her approval of his story, flapping her chubby arms. “Look at you. Just look at you. Your mom… your dad... me, even if I didn't know it…” He laughs. “We were all so young and confused and scared. And...just look at us now.” He gently, almost reverently, stroked the downy top of Miral’s head. “Just  _ look  _ at  _ you _ .”

“Did you get the drinks?”

Tom jumped half a lightyear in the air, wiping his eyes hastily on his sleeve as he turned. B’Elanna had come up behind him with the sandwiches, and as he held the bottles of tea and lemonade up to show her, she looked more closely at him, frowning with concern.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! It’s just a, a bit dusty up here by the viewports.”

B’Elanna surveyed the surrounding air with disapproval. “Honestly, those maintenance engineers have been off the stick ever since Chu left. Want me to put in a work order?”

“No, no,” Tom said hastily, waving a hand. “No need.” He linked his arm through B’Elanna’s, grinning to as they walked towards the picnic blanket. “Everything is absolutely fine.”

  
* * *  
  


“Hey, hey, sweetie.” B’Elanna reached out groggily in the early hours of the morning, lifting her wailing daughter into her arms. “What do you need? What do you need?” she murmured, bouncing Miral as she squalled and waved her arms. The bouncing didn’t have much effect, so B’Elanna huffed a sigh and pulled herself out of bed, carrying Miral to the changing table. “Yep, you need a change, all right. Are you going to settle down after this, or do you need a snack too?” She hummed one of her father’s old lullabies under her breath as she tossed the old diaper into the recycler and cleaned her hands. Somehow she didn’t yet want to go back to the bedroom where Tom was sleeping, so she perched on the toilet, opening her nursing top.

As the baby settled in for an early-morning feeding, B’Elanna closed her eyes. She had thought that she and Tom would be able to stagger shifts so that one of them was almost always with Miral, and hadn’t considered that having time for the three of them together vied directly with arranging shifts so that Miral spent the majority of her time with one parent--but only one parent--rather than at daycare. She had thought that things with her mother would become better and simpler, instead of...well, much better than they had been before the Delta Quadrant, that was for sure, but even more complicated, at the same time. She had thought when they left Earth that she’d be inviting Admiral Janeway to visit them, maybe the weekend after Harry left, and she had thought that every week, even when they were apart, she would be comming her all of Miral’s best baby pictures. She had thought a lot of things, and forgotten that even in the Alpha Quadrant, there were never any guarantees that those things would become reality.

“On Voyager, everyone was  _ right there _ ,” she whispered to Miral. “What are we going to do now when something goes wrong? What happens when we can’t go to them? Was I stupid for leaving Earth’s solar system? Sure, the jobs are great, and I thought--we thought--it’d be good to forge our own lives, a bit. Just the three of us. As a family. But it doesn’t  _ feel  _ like we’re forging our own lives, it feels like we’re just  _ floundering  _ and  _ clueless  _ and  _ alone-- _ ”

She dropped her head to closer to her daughter’s, inhaling the scent of powder and cotton and baby. “Sometimes I fucking hate being home.”

  
* * *

  
Tom hugged Harry for the last time as he prepared to step onto the transport back to Earth. “Good luck with work...Lieutenant Commander.”

Harry grinned back. “You as well, Captain Proton.” He paused for a moment, and B’Elanna narrowed her eyes as he added, seemingly weighting the words with unspoken significance, “Don’t work too hard, hmm?”

Tom gave a firm nod, and after few moments of puzzling, B’Elanna dismissed the exchange from her mind. Harry was probably giving Tom surreptitious encouragement not to work so hard he neglected to write the next chapter of their beloved, daffy holoprogram.

Harry hugged B’Elanna carefully around Miral. “Same to you, Maquis.”

“Right back at ya, Starfleet.”

Leaning down to Miral’s eye level, he instructed her  _ sotto voce, _ “Annoy your parents for me, all right?”

“Oh, get out of here, Harry!”

As B’Elanna walked back to their quarters and Tom headed off for his shift, an alert pinged on her organizer. She checked it after putting Miral down in her play area and handing her her favorite teething targ, who immediately began to get enthusiastically gummed.

      **Adm Janeway nxt wknd(?) clean guest rm, reserve shuttle for nbla tour???**

B’Elanna sat down heavily, looking at the calendar alert, created only a few days before they left Earth. The weight she had been successfully dodging out from under all weekend settled onto her shoulders, and she balled her hands into fists, trying to breathe deeply as a few tears finally escaped.

After several minutes, sat sat bolt upright.  _ Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Commander Torres? _

_ Engineers don’t sit around and worry about problems. They solve them. _

As Miral addressed Toby the Second with renewed determination, B’Elanna reached for a PADD and composed a message to Phoebe Janeway.  
  


* * *

  
In her office at Kuiper Research Station, Seven of Nine, former tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, now Lieutenant Commander of Starfleet, tapped her nails again her desk. Her duties for the day complete, she had several personal connections to reaffirm.

“Computer, compose message to Commander B’Elanna Torres, Station WD-47.”

The computer beeped approval, and she began, “Greetings. I hope that this message finds you and your family well, and your work interesting and gratifying.”

She drummed her nails, considering what else Commander Torres might find relevant. “I am still stationed in the Kuiper belt. While I remain physically undamaged, emotionally speaking, I admit that I regret the loss of the intellectual challenges we were regularly called upon to solve while traveling through the Delta Quadrant. However, I am not in significant distress over this change, and this quadrant has also opened opportunities that would not have been possible on Voyager. Altogether,” she concluded, “I will adapt.”

Thinking of the commander’s family, she continued, “I hope that Commander Paris finds his work as a flight instructor fulfilling. And I hope that, like me, you are finding new challenges to replace those you consistently rose to meet on Voyager.

“Your daughter appeared healthy and well-groomed in your holoimage from the last all-crew newsletter. I hope that you and Commander Paris are finding parenting fulfilling, and that she is reaching all appropriate developmental milestones.”

Seven tilted her head to the side in thought. “Computer, delete last sentence.” She thought for another moment, fiddling absentmindedly with the edge of one of the old-fashioned sticky notes she considered it efficient to keep on her desk in case of interruptions to station power flow.

“My… experience… helping Rebi, Azan, Icheb and Mezoti as they developed provided evidence that children, especially those of atypical provenance, do not always develop as we would expect.” She gazed out the viewport, considering how best to articulate the sentiment. “If an idea can even be formed of what  _ to  _ expect. I… suspect that your daughter will face challenges that are unique to beings that are point-two-five Klingon and point-seven-five Human. I am sure it is also natural for her to face challenges unique to her. She, is, after all, an individual.

“I hope that she, and you, are enjoying her individuality, and her ability to explore the universe.”

Satisfied, Seven flicked the crumpled sticky note into the recycler with perfect precision and completed her message.  “Signed, Seven of Nine, ter--Lieutenant Commander, Science Division, Kuiper Research Station, United Federation of Planets.”

  
* * *  
  


Miral sat on the floor, playing with a rattle while leaning against her mother’s legs. B’Elanna felt as though she was about to burst into tears because of it.

_ Seven-month babies are supposed to sit up to play and twist their trunks, if anything Miral’s Klingon blood should make her develop  _ faster, _ and all she wants to do is lie on her back or lean against me. _

Miral babbled cheerfully, waving the rattle. B’Elanna closed her eyes.

_ What if something is wrong? _

She shook herself mentally, reminding herself that the lurking fear of “something wrong” was a centuries-old boogieman, from the dark days when developmental disabilities were considered bad and wrong and a punishment to a family. But no matter how many times she reminded herself that the most she should be on the lookout for is a disability that would change her daughter’s life, not diminish it, she couldn’t help but be haunted by the certainty that something could be  _ really  _ _wrong, what if it's some life-threatening illness or mutation or_ _ something I did wrong as a parent, what if I hurt her somehow, what if... _

Miral cooed happily, but two weeks of back-of-the-mind worry were finally spilling out of the place in the back of her mother's mind where she had tried to lock them away. All she could hear was her own fear, and all she see are her own nightmares.

_ I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.  _ B’Elanna’s heart raced, the pain and fear she refused to show Tom rearing its ugly head. _ I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m doing I don’t know what I’m doing I’m going to get everything wrong-- _

Her console pinged with an incoming message and she grabbed for it, grateful for any distraction.

Reading Seven’s simple, formal missive, B’Elanna felt a new tear trickle down her cheek. Taking a long, deep breath, she stared out at the stars, then closed her eyes, breathing in and out as her racing thoughts and racing heartbeat calmed.

Looking down at her happy, wriggly baby daughter, she felt as though a weight had been lifted. Bending her head, she pressed a kiss to Miral’s soft, warm hair.

_ I love you, baby. Just the way you are. _

_ We’ll be okay. _

  
* * *  
  


“Why did you wear that vest? It makes you look like a Talaxian doormat.”

“The pattern came out last weekend. Get this, B'E, the fabric is modeled after the jumpsuits worn by freighter pilots in the twenty-second century. They wore multicolored material because—”

“Yes, well, I doubt Chakotay knows or cares what twenty-second century freighter pilots wore, and he still outranks you; do you want to spend the first day of Miral's Uncle Chakotay's visit being ordered to sickbay to get your color vision checked?”

Grinning, Tom was about to retort, but was interrupted by sound of the airlock door opening. B’Elanna squinted into the crowd as passengers began flooding from the transport.

“Where...oh, I see him. Oh. Oh, _ no. _ ”

Puzzled by his wife’s horror, Tom peered into the disembarking crowd, looking for Chakotay’s salt-and-pepper hair. It was only when their former commander broke free of the throng and headed toward them that he understood B’Elanna’s dismay.

“Good to see you, sir!” he said, reaching to hug Chakotay and clapping him on the back. Miral waved her arms happily from her front-facing carrier on B’Elanna’s chest, either recognizing the godfather who had so frequently babysat her only a couple months before, or simply caught up in the excitement of the moment.

As Chakotay leaned over to greet the baby, Tom added, glancing slyly at B’Elanna, “I see that you too have been enjoying getting up to date on Rachel Andujar’s historical replicator patterns! I’m particularly appreciative of her respect for the pilots of old; this line of freighter jumpsuit-inspired wear really pays fitting tribute to the twenty-second century, don’t you agree?”

“An incredible chapter of history,” Chakotay agreed happily.

B'Elanna groaned. “I don't believe this.”

“B’Elanna has  _ not  _ been getting into the spirit of historical appreciation,” Tom added in a stage whisper as they set off down the concourse towards the family’s quarters. “You know, I’m sure Andujar has done some historical engineer-inspired lines...”

“If I’m paying homage to my early-millennium predecessors, why don’t I just wrap myself in duct tape and call it a day?”

“Funny you should say that,” commented Chakotay. “Did you know that ‘duct tape fashion’ was a notable trend, particularly among teenaged girls, in parts of the the Americas in the early twenty-first century?”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Is this your twisted sense of humor again, Chakotay?”

“Not in the least.” He reached out, tickling Miral's toes, and she giggled, squirming in the carrier. “How's our little crewman doing?”

“Strong and healthy and wearing her parents out.”

Tom keyed in the access code to their quarters, then walked over to the replicator to get drinks as Chakotay got settled onto the couch, reaching his arms out for his goddaughter. B’Elanna handed her off, and Chakotay’s eyes shone as he lifted her up and down and up and down, singing an old nursery rhyme.

For the rest of the afternoon, leaning back on the facing couch as Chakotay entertained the baby and the three adults chatted and laughed, Tom found himself amazed at the vividness of the change he could see in Chakotay after spending mere hours with the man. He’d never really noticed--couldn’t have noticed, having no prior memories of him for comparison--that although Chakotay was always  _ calm _ , in the Maquis and especially on Voyager, calm was not the same as being at ease. Chakotay was the eye of the emotional hurricane the small, isolated ship could become; a steady presence who discharged his responsibility to handle both shipwide social problems and individual crewmens’ difficulties with willingness and grace. Although he was second in responsibility only to Janeway (and, Tom had often thought privately, to B’Elanna, who was after all tasked with preserving the basic structural integrity of the ship that kept them all alive in the cold dark vacuum of space), Chakotay had never appeared to bear the same amount of pressure and exhaustion that visibly weighed the captain down. Although Tom knew intellectually that Chakotay suffered and struggled like everyone else, at some times more than others, he nonetheless seemed fairly peaceful through it all, not wracked by the wounds and fears that haunted so many of Voyager’s passengers.

It was only now, seeing the man several months into a life where he did not bear a significant amount of responsibility for a hundred and fifty people, that Tom realized that the fact that Chakotay was peaceful and steady didn’t mean that he was anything close to relaxed.

Laughing, Chakotay lifted Miral over his head, making her shriek with delight. His grin was sunny and free of care, and Tom, always skeptical about such metaphors, had to admit that he truly did look as though years had fallen away from his face.

_ Glad to meet the new you, Commander. _

_ Welcome home. _

  
* * *  
  


“Commander Chakotay certainly seemed to be settling in well. Did you see how happy he was when he talked about work and his new neighborhood?” B’Elanna asked, buttoning up her pajama top.

Tom summarized his musings from the week with Voyager’s former commander to her as he settled Miral into bed, and B’Elanna looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you were such an armchair psychologist, Dr. Proton.”

“Oh, I’m a man of many talents.”

B’Elanna rolled her eyes. “Well, he certainly did seem relaxed; you hit the nail on the head there, doc. You know,” she joked, settling back against the pillows and reaching for the tub of lotion on the bedside table, “I might miss having him around to watch Miral while both of us are at work.” She rubbed lotion into her hands, concentrating on the calluses on her palms that resulted from long, hands-on days of supervising the repair crews, and silence fell for several moments.

“Actually, speaking of work, there’s something I wanted to talk to you ab--”

Tom’s words were interrupted by the chime of the communicator.

“Better go see who that is,” B’Elanna muttered, scooting off the end of the bed and walking into the living room.

Tom, occupied with singing Miral an off-key lullaby after she began to fuss seconds later, didn’t look up until B’Elanna padded back into the bedroom, and then only out of the corner of his eye. It took another thirty seconds for his exhausted brain to register the tears in her eyes, but as soon as he did, he jumped up, striding away from the drowsing baby to wrap his arms around his wife.

“What happened, B’E? What’s wrong?”

Hurriedly rubbing at her eyes, she assured him, “No, no. Nothing wrong. Everything’s better.” She smiled through her tears. “She commed me.”

“Your mother commed again?”

“No. The admiral.” She let out a long sigh, reaching up to dash away a fresh spate of tears. “I spoke to her face to face and everything.”

“Oh, that’s--” Tom wrapped his arms around her, and she melted into him. “That’s good. That’s really, really good.”

“Yeah. And she’s coming to visit.”

“Us? Here?”

“Yes,  _ us, here, _ you dingus.” Pulling back, she tweaked his nose. “In three weeks. If that’s all right with you.”

“Of course. Better set the autocleaning cycle in the guest room.”

“And schedule one of those nebula tours.” She smiled, but he could see that the tears still threatening to fall.

“How does she…” He tried to think of a way to articulate the question. “Look?”

B’Elanna was silent for a long moment. “Tired,” she finally answered. “But…” she gestured vaguely. “You know. At least she’s not...” She let the words dangle, staring out the bedroom viewport, and Tom pulled her against him again, rocking her gently back and forth in silence for several minutes.

“Think she’ll join me and Chakotay in showing up dressed like…what did you call it? A Talaxian doormat?” he asked finally.

B’Elanna cracked a grin, just as he had hoped, and flopped back onto her side of the bed. “She’d better not, or I’ll kick her ass, admiral or not.”

“So I suppose that’s a ‘no’ on the forebear-honoring duct table ensemble, then?”

“Forget the duct tape; how would you like it if I honored my engineering forebears by rubbing myself with engine grease?”

“Depends.” He lay back against the pillows, and let his eyes rake slowly over her pajama-clad form. “Engine grease and nothing else?”

She smirked. “Well, if  _ that's _ where this is going, I can think of a few things I'd much rather rub myself with.” Bouncing up, she pulled up the fourth side of Miral's bed, then wheeled it over to the quiet alcove in the side of the room before walking back and standing over Tom.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”  
  


* * *  
  


“This is terrible timing,” B’Elanna muttered under her breath for the third time that morning.

Everything was perfectly prepared for the arrival of Tom and B’Elanna’s former commanding officer--everything except the baby lying on the bed, chewing absentmindedly on one of the ruffled cuffs of her new pink outfit.

Miral was eight months old, and starting to cling.

Turning back to the bed, she saw that Miral had wriggled out of the pink headband with its floppy satin bow. She reached out brusquely to re-headband her daughter, but Miral’s face began to screw up in warning. “Okay, fine,” B’Elanna muttered, scooping up her baby and leaving the headband on the bed, “let’s go.”

As she walked down the hall, Miral riding in the carrier on her back, she mentally rehearsed what she would have to explain to Janeway. _ She’s gotten really clingy lately. They say it happens around seven to nine months, and it’s nothing to worry about, but she might not let you hold her much… _

The feeling of gooey fabric brushing the back of her neck told her that Miral was sucking on a ruffle again. B’Elanna considered trying to gently dissuade her, but didn’t; she generally believed in letting her baby be a baby, even when it was less than convenient, or picturesque, to do so. Besides, even if B’Elanna managed to halt the sliming process now, the ruffled outfit would be visibly damp anyway.

After everything Janeway had purportedly been going through, and the sneaky bit of ‘engineering’ it had taken to get her here, B’Elanna had dreamed of presenting her former captain with the perfect visit: an adorable, happy goddaughter who would snuggle with her and entertain her, a nebula tour that was purely for pleasure rather than a survey of a potentially lethal obstacle, and good conversation with two of her former senior staff. Now Tom hadn’t even been able to get off work to meet the transport with them, and in only three weeks Miral had become as clingy and crotchety as if she were studying for an exam in separation anxiety and having a mind of one’s own.

_ Well, at least that tourist-trap nebula hasn’t turned out to be alive and literally trapping tourists. _

Arriving at the dock, she spotted Janeway already waiting by the airlock door, duffel bag by her side. She smiled as B’Elanna approached, reaching forward for a hug, and B'Elanna wrapped her arms around her.

They had embraced before, most memorably when B'Elanna woke from her trip to the barge of the dead. Janeway, of course, had always been slight but muscular, and B'Elanna could remember the warm solidity of her embrace, arms wrapping securely around B'Elanna as B'Elanna leaned against her compact form. Now, she was startled to feel as though she was embracing a bird, all bones and no substance.

As the two officers pulled apart, B'Elanna found herself stammering through her explanation of Miral’s current clinginess, and Tom’s business, amidst her words of welcome.

“Oh, good,” Janeway replied when she had finished, smiling up at Miral over B’Elanna’s shoulder.

“Good?”

“That means she’s getting attached to you, and the more attached she is, the more cute mother-daughter holos for the ex-Voyager crew newsletter,” Janeway cooed.

B’Elanna smiled, and continued to update her former captain on their family’s new life as they walked down the concourse. She  couldn’t help but notice that, despite Janeway’s cheerful remarks and polite questions, her smile didn't ever seem to touch the faraway look in her eyes. Over the course of their walk to the Paris-Torres quarters, B’Elanna got the distinct impression that most of Janeway was several thousand lightyears away, and the part of her left behind to watch the shop was saying the words she felt B’Elanna needed to hear, in the tone of voice she assumed she ought to say them, rather than engaging in any meaningful way with their conversation.

After ordering two coffees from the living room replicator, B’Elanna got the three of them settled on the squashiest, most comfortable living room couch. Miral was still gazing suspiciously at Janeway from her mother’s lap, holding onto the front of B’Elanna’s shirt like a grumpy baby sloth.

Occupied with taking her first sip of coffee around the baby, B’Elanna was taken by surprise when she looked back up to see Janeway staring at the two of them. Her eyes at last seemed somewhat clearer, and she was regarding mother and daughter with a look of deep, melting affection.

“I’m so glad to be here,” she said simply, and B’Elanna sensed that for the first time she was, in fact,  _ here,  _ wholly present on Station WD-47.

“We’re glad you came,” she replied softly.  “This one is too, even if she’s not showing it.”

“Oh, I think she’s showing it in her own way.” Janeway smiled her genuine, familiar lopsided smirk, and B’Elanna felt her heart lift slightly.

Reaching down, Janeway unzipped the top of her duffel, pulling out a small package wrapped in lilac tissue paper and satin ribbon. Rather than hand it to B’Elanna, she matter-of-factly unwrapped it herself, holding the tissue slightly aloft before letting it drift to the floor, her lips curling upwards as Miral’s eyes followed the wrapping on its way down.

Slowly, she opened the box, Miral watching with rapt attention as she pulled out a stuffed knit Krallinian eel. Wiggling the gaily colored toy to show Miral both sides, she reached out, handing it to Miral, who grabbed it.

And dropped it.

Maintaining eye contact, Janeway reached down, picking the eel up off the floor and handing it back to the baby.

Who dropped it again.

Janeway repeated the motion, as did Miral. B’Elanna was just about to intercede, taking the toy and thanking Janeway on her contrary daughter’s behalf, when she noticed the gleam in Miral’s eye...and the matching gleam in her godmother’s.

As the fourth round of the game began, Miral tossed the eel away with especially emphatic force, and Janeway swam it up and down through the air before returning it to her. Miral shrieked with glee as she got her hands back on the creature, hurling it in the direction of the replicator.

As Janeway stepped away to retrieve it, an even warmer, more mischievous grin breaking over her face, B’Elanna wanted to laugh and cry and throw her arms around her baby and her former captain and the entire universe all at once. 

She and Miral had given Janeway something better than a docile, sweetly beribboned infant. 

They’d given her a challenge.  
  


* * *  
  


A week later, Miral happily rode in Aunt Kathryn’s arms back to the transport dock. B’Elanna was still getting used to the new mode of address. Despite Kathryn’s invitation to call her by first name (“We may both still be in Starfleet, but I’m hardly in your line of direct supervisors out here, B’Elanna”), the last week had been filled with a mix of “Admirals,” “Captains,” and “Kathryns,” not to mention quick halfway switches between them. Luckily, Janeway had only seemed amused by the entire snafu, and when she laughed, so did Miral.  _ And to think I thought I had until the teenage years until my own child started making fun of me. _

“Well, there’s my boarding call.”

Tom reached out, trading baby for duffel bag and giving Kathryn a one-armed hug, while B’Elanna stood back, biting her lip at the thought of watching Kathryn sail away again. Over a last week, she’d felt the joy of watching her daughter and former captain bond, and the pain and frustration of seeing Janeway get that tired, distant look in her eyes and slip away to rest every few hours. It had been a slow process to acknowledge that the fantasy she’d begun to entertain, without quite realizing it, as she prepared for Janeway’s visit--that she and Miral would be able to wave a magic wand and make everything okay again--was just that: a fantasy.

As painful as that had been to acknowledge, once she had done so, B’Elanna had begun to feel deep pride and satisfaction at her part in bringing about Kathryn’s visit. Maybe Kathryn's getting to spend a few days with a loud, strong-willed, snuggly, gloriously  _ alive  _ little girl who wouldn’t have existed if it wasn’t for her wouldn’t chase away all the demons Kathryn was fighting. But B’Elanna was pretty damn sure it couldn’t have hurt.

She leaned in for a goodbye hug, thinking again of her voyage on the barge of the dead, and how Kathryn had fussed and hovered in sickbay as B’Elanna prepared, looking at her as though she didn’t know whether she would ever get her back, as though she wanted more than anything not to let her go.

B’Elanna squeezed her eyes shut, face buried in Kathryn’s neck.  _ Turnabout’s fair play, I suppose. _

From behind them, Miral let out a squawk. B’Elanna felt a quiet chuckle ripple through Kathryn’s body, and hugged her fiercely.

Finally pulling away, she kept her hands on Kathryn’s shoulders. “She needs you, you know.”

Their eyes met for several long moments, then Kathryn gave a slight nod. “I know.”  
  


* * *  
  


On the three hundred and forty-seventh day since Voyager’s return, Tom clapped his hands and announced, “Tonight’s gonna be the night.”

“Oh, you’re sure of that, are you?”

“We are sure of that.” Reaching down, Tom took hold of his daughter’s small hands, cha-cha-ing them up and down.

“And what makes the two of you so sure of that?”

“We’ve got a good feeling.”

B’Elanna shook out the picnic blanket, spreading it in front of their favorite spot in front of the far mezzanine window, and opened the basket. “Well, do you have a good feeling about helping me unload this?”

Setting Miral down on the blanket and reaching for the wine glasses, Tom told her, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about.”

“Oh?” B’Elanna set back on her heels, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m thinking about quitting my job.”

Her eyes widened.

“I… talked about it with Harry, when he visited, and again when we chatted last week. I wasn’t trying to keep you out of the loop,” he assured her hastily, “but I needed to get my thoughts straightened out a bit first, or I wouldn’t even have known what kind of loop it was going to be.

“Like I’ve been telling everyone… I enjoyed the adrenaline rushes on Voyager, but things are different now. I’m different now, and this little scamp--right now,  _ she’s  _ my greatest adventure. I can see you, B’E, how you’re just starting out on the career that Voyager and Chakotay and Janeway helped you claim again. How you… you just  _ glow  _ when you talk about work, B’Elanna, did you know that? You do. But I’ve already hit my highs as a pilot--the highs I needed to hit, anyway. I want to spend as much time as I can with the squirt while she’s still little and cute, before she’s having so much teenage angst I don’t get to see her except when she wants me to replicate her a pizza.”

B’Elanna gazed at him, wordless, for several moments. Then she leaned forward, communicating everything that needed to be said in a long, loving kiss.

As they broke apart, he smiled, pulling her close while reaching out to stroke Miral’s silky hair. “Having a stay-at-home parent will make her more available for playdates, instead of us so desperately needing to spend our few together-moments as a family. We’ll get to know the other parents on the station, maybe find something like what we had on Voyager. We don’t need to go it alone, any more than we did out there,” he murmurs into her ear.

“I know. You know what, Tom?”

“What?”

“I’m glad… I  _ am  _ so glad we’re still within visiting distance of Earth. But… it feels right, being out here. We couldn’t stay cocooned in the Voyager family forever, clinging to something that doesn’t quite exist anymore, you know?”

“We need to make our own way, style of thing?”

“Yeah.” B’Elanna wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Just… like you said. With plenty of visits from the old crowd. Not  _ entirely  _ on our own.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Not even close.”

“Ah!” Miral interrupted, attempting to pull herself up on the rim of the bulkhead. After a couple of tries, she was edging her way along toward the window, and then--

B’Elanna’s mouth fell open as Tom hissed,  _ “Yesssss!” _

Letting go, Miral walked toward them, taking her first unsteady steps bathed in the light of the stars. Tom reached out just as she stumbled and caught her, pulling her into his arms. “Look at you go!” he cooed, nuzzling her hair. “Look at you  _ go!” _ Releasing her, he smirked triumphantly. “I  _ told  _ you tonight would be the night.”

B’Elanna laughed in delight, scooping her daughter up and tickling her tummy. “You’re our little space girl, that’s for sure. Were you just waiting for a backdrop of stars?”

Miral chortled, aware of her parents’ delight if not its exact cause, and began to pluck at B’Elanna’s shirt. “Walking is hungry work, is it?” she asked, opening her top.

Tom smiled as Miral settled in to nurse, and the family sat in silence for several contented minutes, gazing out into the glittering panorama of space.

“Do you think she’ll head out there some day?” he wondered aloud.

Rocking her daughter gently, B’Elanna leaned against her husband’s shoulder, not answering his question with anything other than a smile. Eyes shining with love, he smiled back.

Someday, their baby girl might journey into those distant stars, leaving her parents behind to wonder and worry and comfort themselves in the knowledge that they’d loved and prepared her as well as they possibly could. But for now, she was snug in her parents’ arms, with a safe and happy childhood stretching out ahead of her, time to learn and love and grow. And B’Elanna knew with all her head and all her heart that here--far from the lands of each of their births, but together and close to all those who loved them, with the space to build something of their own--was where their family was meant to be.


End file.
